


As If She'd Return My Call

by prosopopeya



Category: Glee, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater, Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosopopeya/pseuds/prosopopeya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When teenage couples wind up dying in gruesome ways, Dean and Sam have to do a little investigating in Lima, Ohio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As If She'd Return My Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the request of [msmoocow](http://msmoocow.livejournal.com/). It probably isn't as funny or as gay as she would've liked, but she can take what she gets ok.

  
**As if She'd Return My Call**   


“My name’s Agent Tufnel. This is my partner, Agent St. Hubbins.” Dean flashes his badge in the face of the latest set of kids he has to interrogate. He’s playing the gruff cop, in case any of the kids turn out to be too hard to handle. Sam’s playing his best social worker, and he smiles at the kids as he puts his badge away.

“Like in _Spinal Tap_?” asks the short one, and the gay one almost looks disappointed in him. Dean’s simultaneously proud and disappointed.

“Yeah. Our supervisor thinks it’s hilarious,” he says smoothly, covering, and he and Sam share a perturbed look that doesn’t need to be faked.

“We’d just like to ask you a few questions about the incident.”

“You mean George and Anna,” says the gay one with a little hitch in his voice, and the short one reaches over to link their fingers together. Damn. Guess this one’ll have to be the super gay one, then.

“Yes. Did you know them?” Sam’s as dewy as a Disney deer, and the short one squeezes the super gay one’s hand, apparently answering for the both of them.

“Kurt did, a little. Anna sat behind him in French, and George had the locker next to him in gym. I didn’t really know them; I just transferred here.”

Dean and Sam nod, and Dean turns his attention on Kurt.

“What can you tell us about them?”

Kurt shoots a look to the short one, who smiles encouragingly, and Dean almost wants to vomit in his throat. Jesus. This couple is a little too syrupy sweet for his tastes.

“Well, they were dating. George wouldn’t stop talking about it.” He smiles, flustered about having to hear about this relationship. “He asked her out about a week ago. I haven’t seen them happier. The last time I saw Anna, last Friday, she had her phone taken away for texting George in class.”

“I see. Anything else?” Sam prompts. Kurt shakes his head, and the short one looks expectantly up at them.

Kurt bites his lip and the short one slips his hand around to his back, rubbing gently.

“Is there anything else we can do for you, officers?”

Jesus, is he _real_?

“One more thing. Did either of you know Otto Lammermeier?”

Kurt’s angelic little face wrinkles in confusion, and he looks at the short one, who’s just as clueless.

“Who?”

Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out the yearbook picture of the kid who wouldn’t have won any Iron Man competitions, and who so far, nobody seemed to remember. He’d say it was downright spooky if his parents hadn’t confirmed it, and the kid’s room didn’t have anything magical in it. Apparently, he was just legitimately invisible in a totally nonsupernatural way.

“His name was Otto Lammermeier. He died two years ago in the school parking lot.”

“Oh!” Kurt pulls the picture closer and stares at it, though Dean’s pretty sure he’s just remembering the details of the death, more than the kid’s face. “I remember that. He was on his phone when he got hit by a car.”

“On his phone?” Sam clicks his pen and gives Dean a hopeful look. That’s more than they heard so far. “Do you know who he was talking to?”

“No, I didn’t really know him.” Kurt starts to push the picture back and lean back in his seat, and Dean’s flicker of hope at a lead dies away. “But it was probably Mariana Wheelan. He had a huge crush on her. It really creeped her out. He texted her between classes all the time.”

“Mariana Wheelan? Does she still go here?”

“No, her dad got transferred to Germany this year.”

Which happens to be the year the killings start. After another significant look with his brother, Sam smiles encouragingly at the couple.

“That’s all we have. Thank you for your time. Give us a call if you think of anything else.”

Dean smiles and shakes his head, and he and Sam stand up to see them out of the room. The bell rings in the hallway, and it makes Dean’s teeth rattle. God, he hates being back in a school.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Dean asks as the door shuts behind them.

“Girl’s gone, so now Otto’s ghost doesn’t have anything to pine after,” Sam returns easily, and Dean doesn’t smile, though he wants to. It feels good to get back into this with Sammy, hunting a monster a week.

“Explains why he went after a couple.”

“And why they hand phones in their hands.”

Their eyes meet, and he can tell that Sammy feels it too, that they’re sliding back into what they were before the world went to shit, or almost went to shit, except it still totally did, even if they managed to scrape by.

“C’mon, Sammy. You saw their parents’ faces. We know why they had phones in their hands.” Sam rolls his eyes at Dean’s leer. “Makes me kinda wish sexting was a thing when I was a teenager. Oh the fun I could’ve had.”

Sam’s chagrined expression puts a real smile on Dean’s face, and he feels more relaxed than he has in days.

“Think salting and burning the bones’ll be enough?” he asks, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Sam sighs and shrugs, putting his briefcase together. “Hope so. I don’t really want to go digging around his room anymore.”

Dean grunts his agreement and they make their way out of the school, thank God. A woman in a track suit shoves between them, knocking Sam into the lockers.

“Your hair is stupid,” she calls over her shoulder.

Sam looks like someone kicked his puppy in the face, and Dean tries not to burst into laughter. “It _is_ stupid,” he offers, and Sam hits him in the shoulder.

* * *

“So I guess salting and burning the bones wasn’t enough,” he says, sighing. On the front page of the newspaper is another couple, Michael and Wendy. Same M.O. They’d been texting each other all night, says Wendy’s mom—“More like _sexting_ ,” Dean says with a grin—and then bam. Ribs crushed, lungs punctured, and they died drowning in their own blood, with a phone in their hand.

“Maybe his mom kept something personal,” Sam murmurs, closing the paper thoughtfully.

“And while we play this guessing game, what, more of these kids are going to die?” Dean’s eyebrows reach new heights on his forehead, and Sam shrugs.

“What are we supposed to do, Dean? Tell kids to stop using their phones? I don’t think that’s going to go over well.”

Sighing, because he knows Sam’s right, Dean nods. “Alright. Let’s just work fast, okay?”

* * *

Short of burning everything in the kid’s room, they’re totally clueless. The mom and dad were a dead end; her memorial is Otto’s room, which is essentially untouched, and which is empty of anything she says meant much of anything to Otto.

“Poor kid,” Dean had muttered, and he still believes it, though he’s ready to send the kid back to where he belongs. There’s no excuse for going after twitterpated kids, no matter how shitty life was. It’s Sam’s idea to go to the school, but Dean’s not exactly hopeful. Maybe the kid stashed something here, but how the hell would they know?

It’s after hours, but a guy with eyes dewier than Sam’s and even stupider hair let them in after they flashed their badges, and they’re cruising around, looking for any place likely to hold a significant object that could be tied to a dead loser’s spirit.

“Agents.”

It’s the short one in a fucking bowtie, and Dean struggles to keep a straight face. He doesn’t actually know the kid’s name, but Sam steps in with a smile.

“Blaine. How’s it going?”

And suddenly it’s even harder to keep from laughing.

“Great, thanks. Hey, did Kurt call you?”

Sam’s eyebrows raise and he shakes his head. “No. Did he think of something to tell us?”

“Sort of. He said that he nearly forgot they never reused Otto’s locker, but it’s because they turned the end of the hallway into a janitor’s closet. It’s right down there.” He points down the hall to a plaster wall that could be new, and Dean feels a little surge of hope.

“That’s great. Thanks, Blaine.” Sam smiles and Blaine nods before disappearing into the room full of singing kids.

 _Blaine_ Dean mouths at Sam, who shrugs and nods them toward the closet. It’s locked, but that doesn’t even qualify as an obstacle, and Sam and Dean are inside in seconds. There’s the locker, gathering dust behind tubs of turpentine and holding up a mop.

“Some memorial,” Dean mutters.

Behind them, the singing stops, and Dean silently sends up some thanks as they get to work clearing away the clutter from the locker. Suddenly Dean’s gripped from behind and tugged away, and he slams into some shelves, rags and gloves raining down on his lap. He can just see the kid’s spirit before Sam throws some salt on it, opting out of firing a shotgun blast in this little room.

“I think we’re getting warmer,” he grunts, and Sam helps him up off the floor.

There are kids’ voices in the hallway now, and they look worriedly behind them. They’re evidently on some sort of break, and hopefully they didn’t hear Dean smash into the wall; the last thing he needs is more innocent kids getting caught up in this mess.

The need to work quickly doesn’t have to be expressed; they set to clearing away the debris from the locker, and then cracking into the lock. Sam opens the door and there it is – a virtual shrine to some girl with blonde hair and big blue eyes. There’s a jar with some tissue in it, and some definitely stalker-type pictures plastered to the walls, and in a little jar, some blonde hair. Sam and Dean wrinkle their noses at each other.

“We’ll have to get it out of here, if we need to torch the whole thing,” Sam mutters. Dean’s starting to get worried about the utter lack of spiritual interference when they both hear it—screams, coming from the hallway. With one look, Dean’s on his way out, shotgun in one hand and a jar of salt sticking out of his pocket.

A couple girls scream when they see the gun, but he locks eyes with the first composed face he sees—some tall Asian kid—and demands to know what’s going on.

“Kurt,” he says, though his voice is wavering. He points into the choir room and Dean hurries inside, where there’s Kurt, twisted on the floor, blood on his face, and a phone halfway across the floor. Hurrying over, Dean tells the kid to stay still and he sprinkles a ring of salt around him. Though he’s still writhing in pain, at least new injuries have stopped blossoming on his skin.

“Where’s Blaine?” he demands, standing over Kurt, hoping to assess the question of whether or not he’s conscious enough to talk and where to find his boyfriend in one go.

“Bathroom,” he chokes, and Dean takes off into the hallway again.

“Bathroom?” he demands of the Asian kid, who points down the hallway, but it turns out he doesn’t have to. Blaine comes stumbling out, blood dripping from his mouth, and this time, Otto’s right behind him, grinning a saucy little smile. Fucker.

Raising the gun, he shoots through Otto’s spirit, and hurries to Blaine’s side, ignoring the screams behind him.

“You okay, kid?” he asks as he quickly shakes salt around Blaine’s body. It isn’t the most even circle, but Blaine looks like he’s in bad shape, and Dean’s more than a little worried.

Another scream behind him and he whirls around. Otto’s leering now at a pair of cheerleaders, who Dean would much rather be staring at and wondering at their relationship under very different circumstances. Thankfully, Otto goes up in a screaming, fiery blaze, and Sam emerges from the end of the hallway, looking grim but successful.

Whipping out his phone, Dean calls 911 while Sam deals with the teenagers. The curly haired deer-guy appears from almost nowhere, and Dean hears Sam ask him where the hell he’s been, though Dean knows he couldn’t have done much to stop this.

Well, except keep his kids from freaking sexting each other during glee club.

* * *

He could probably do something about how creaky the driver’s side door is, but he likes the way it sounds as it groans shut behind him, and he sighs, ready to put this place behind him. He isn’t happy about leaving behind a knot of kids who’ve seen a little too much about the hunting life, but at least they can sing about it.

“Let’s get a move on,” Sam prompts, sighing as he leans back in his seat. “It’s a long drive to North Dakota.”

He puts the keys in the ignition and starts them out of the parking lot, a slow smile creeping up on his face. “Dude,” he says, and Sam looks at him, an eyebrow raised, “those cheerleaders were totally doing it.”

Sam sighs, but he can’t stop grinning, and Dean pulls out onto the road, unable to keep a smile off his face, too.


End file.
